Art of Dancing in the Rain
by Vinniey
Summary: Reapers steal memories, take away the destructive ones that haunt the mind endlessly. They purge the troubled souls, stitching in feelings of relief and a comforting calmness. They are not supposed to exist in human knowledge for the are a fleeting existence. They are not permitted to love. Tim is a reaper, and Jason is his victim; however, in the end, they are both victims.
1. Oblivion

**Title:** _Oblivion  
_**Verse:** _Art of Dancing in the Rain  
_**Pairing:** _JayTim  
_**Rating:** _T (for language)  
_**Word Count:** _3,920 (12 pages)  
_**Warnings:**_ There is no fluff. Fluff is non-existent in this verse, so don't expect to find it here. _:(  
**A/N:**_ This is the beginning of… well, something. I'm actually pretty pleased with it, to be honest. This verse has just been sitting on my desk as a quote on a sticky note. I thought it was about time I wrote it out, yeah? I do hope you all moderately enjoy this. :) And yes, I am taking prompts for this verse. So if there's something you want to see, just head over to my blog, read the rules, and drop a prompt. ;)  
_**Inspiration:** _"PIECES" by RED_

* * *

It was deafening, the roar of the rain pounding against the pavement and the merciless claps of thunder that sounded through the air. Brief, violent flashes of lighting lit the sky in a light purple hue, the world visible for only a few seconds at a time. The clouds looked exceptionally evil, dark purple and looming over the small town, blocking out any ray of light that attempted to squeeze threw small cracks.

Stark white hands trembled feebly from the cold that seeped deep into the bones from the chilling rain. Dark black hair was plastered to a fleeten face, obscuring the eyes and covering the cheeks. Once light pink lips were now a dull, light greyish-purple and were pressed into a thin line.

The boy looked dead, sitting there on the wooden bench placed right before the curb of the street, letting the rain splatter brutally against his form. He didn't move an inch, didn't even blink; it was almost uncertain if the boy waseven breathing, but his hands shook.

They_ shook._

He stretched his hand out in front of him, his palm facing upwards, his fingertips beginning to turn a depressing blue from the lack of warmth; although, it wasn't as if he really needed it. Raindrops fell into his open palm, pooling in the center before the unstable hand tilted to the side, and the water drizzled off the appendage. Slowly, the pale hand fell back to its original position on Tim's lap, too weak to be kept upright. Crystal blue eyes closed gently as a single name sounded through his mind.

_Jason_.

He had called out to him a few days ago by accident, and it was only a matter of time before the older male would show up, so there really was no point in running again. So he would wait, just sit there and wait until the other boy appeared to greet him for the first time, just like every other time.

Tim doesn't know how long he sat there, waiting, but he does know that his waiting had finally come to an end. There, standing next to the bench, was an older male clad in a leather jacket, black pants, and familiar boots. His hands were casually shoved in his coat pockets as he stood there, watching the boy. His dark hair clung to his face as well, but it managed to somehow stick out at some angles. His oceanic eyes grazed over Tim's figure as he spoke.

"What the hell are you doing out here for, kid?" Tim almost smiled at that, the sense of déjà-vu filling his senses.

_Same old Jason_.

He didn't verbally answer, however, which seemed to annoy Jason.

"Hey, are you even listening to me?" No answer. "Jesus. Gotta be fucking kidding me," he muttered to himself. A zipping noise could be heard, and all of a sudden, Tim could no longer feel the endless downpour from the skies. He looked over and found Jason in a thin t-shirt, that was quickly becoming soaked, clinging to his form, and he was holding his leather jacket above Tim's head, shielding him from the water.

Well, this was new.

He stared at Jason with contemplating eyes, wondering what his next move would be. Jason stared at him for a little while longer, Tim's shivering not going unnoticed by the older male. After a few more seconds of the rain being the only source of noise, Jason jerked his head in a beckoning motion.

"Come on, little shit. I know your momma probably told you not to talk to, let alone go with, strangers, but I promise you I'm only buying you something warm because quite frankly, you look like Jack Frost just went to town on you. Now, come on." He held his hand out to Tim, which should have been steaming from how warm it appeared to be. Tim managed to grab his hand in a feeble grip, the sudden contrast of temperature shocking his limb. Jason pulled him off the bench, half-expecting Tim to just fall into him, which he did.

Tim had been parked on the bench for so long that his legs were numb, and he almost forgot how to use them. He collided with Jason's warm, firm chest, and he carefully curled his pale fingers into the wet, grey t-shirt. Tim laid his head on Jason's chest, feeling the warmth seeping through the soaked shirt and spreading across his cheek.

_Just one more time_, he thought to himself.

Jason didn't dare to remove his grasp from Tim's arms in fear of the boy crumpling to the ground in a heap, but he almost did in shock from the boy snuggling into his chest like so. He stared at the younger male bewildered for a few moments before a sigh escaped his lips.

"You have a lot of trust in strangers. You need to work on that," he mumbled to himself, but he nonetheless gently nudged Tim forward and they began walking to the nearest café. Jason had placed his leather jacket around Tim's shoulders, providing a small source of warmth to melt away some of the numbing cold. Tim pulled the jacket closer to his body, his eyes falling shut.

_Just one more time…_

* * *

Ocean blue eyes watched the slender, pale fingers curled around the mug of steaming tea, color (that wasn't blue or red) finally returning to the appendages. Jason's eyes then traveled up, landing on his leather jacket that was draped across the boy's shoulders. Droplets of water would collect on the thick fabric before they would slide off the article of clothing altogether. He then looked into the deep, blue, intoxicating eyes of the boy, and found them empty; so empty and void of everything, yet full of so much at the very same time.

It was befuddling.

The boy sensed he was being watched, _scrutinized_, and looked up, meeting Jason's eyes. And boy, were those eyes full of everything. Regret, innocence, hesitation, love, gratitude, despair.

And _nothing_.

Nothing at all.

"Fuck," Jason cursed under his breath, the air catching in his windpipe midway. Tim tilted his head to the side tentatively, his eyes focused on the older male. Jason leant back into the booth, resting his arm on top of the back piece.

"So," he began. "Got a name, kid?" Tim took a small sip from his mug but flinched as the hot beverage burned his upper lip; Jason almost smiled. Tim placed the mug back down on the table, refusing to make eye contact.

"Tim," he replied in a quiet voice. "My name is Tim." He blows on his tea lightly, watching the liquid flutter around in the cup. He looked up when he heard Jason speak.

"Well, Tim, nice to meet you, but seriously. Do you know how fucked up you are?" he asked incredulously, but Tim knew he was only joking. "Sitting out there in the pouring rain? You're lucky you didn't freeze to death. Shit, you're bound to at least get a cold in those wet clothes. Damn it. Oh, I'm Jason, by the way. Not that it really matters."

_But it does._

Jason continued his rant focusing on Tim's health, explaining how stupid the younger male was; Tim listened wholeheartedly, reveling in the rich sound of Jason's voice. He bit his bottom lip when Jason ceased to talk for a while (_he could talk for hours if he really wanted to_), and hesitantly, Tim looked up at him.

Jason studied the boy to the finest detail, the sense of familiarity hanging over his head. He met Tim's eyes, leaned forward, and placed his crossed arms on the table top. He sighed slightly, briefly looking to the side before he spoke.

"Tim… what are you, exactly?" Jason asked. Tim knew this question was coming; it always did, and he almost smiled at it coming up so soon.

_Guess we're running out of time, then._

"I'm a reaper," Tim answered honestly, without any hesitation. And it was true. Jason watched him in silence for a few more seconds.

"A reaper?" he asked, to which Tim replied with a simple "yes." Jason chuckled quietly, his hands folding together.

"What, you here to take my soul or something?" Tim did smile at this, if only briefly, but he shook his head.

"Not quite. No, I steal memories." And when he looked at Jason, he let some slip from his mind and allowed them to stitch into Jason. And Jason felt slightly more whole than what he had felt before he came into this town, and he suddenly was able to piece everything together.

But that was only temporary, for Tim would steal those memories back before the stitches would ever heal.

* * *

"_Damn it_, Tim!" Jason practically yelled. "Why do you keep doing this to me?" Tim stood away from him, facing, instead, a large window as the rain fell down from the sky, splattering against the glass. Tim placed his hand on the cold surface, fanning his fingers out while watching the rain drizzle down the opposite side of the glass.

"Because," he began quietly, "the rain cleanses all, washes away the bad. I personify the rain, so I take away the bad. It's simple, really." Jason took a step forward, his hand outstretched before falling to his side in a defeated manner.

"But… you're _not_ bad." His voice was rough, as if he had been crying, was crying, but Tim would not know; he didn't turn around.

"Yes I am, Jason. I am bad." _For you_. Tim turned around this time, his eyes falling upon the defeated figure. He walked over to the other male, cupping his face with his pale hands.

"I don't know wh-"

"Shh," Tim shushed him, meeting the ocean blue eyes with his own. "I know, and it's okay." Jason reached his hand up, gently holding Tim's forearms. Tim leaned up and kissed Jason square on his mouth, which was almost instantly reciprocated. The younger boy let Jason tilt his head to deepen the kiss as he let his arms snake around Jason's neck in a gentle hold.

And then the reaping began.

Tim silently crept into Jason's mind and began to steal back the old memories, and took the new memories as well. He could feel them enter his body and hang heavily in his chest, like a burden; it was almost unbearable, so painful that Tim couldn't help but let a choked sob slip through his thin lips which was smothered with Jason's own.

And Jason had been crying, not that he'd ever admit to that, of course.

* * *

Reapers are very strange for their kind. They all have a story, but none are all too pleasant. They are not human, nor are they alive or dead. They are only memories of their element solidified into a form, and they live as long as the memories are remembered.

If the memories are forgotten, then they disappear forever, as if they never even existed.

Each reaper has an element, and they personify something within said element. Be it a raging waterfall to a playful stream, a destructive cyclone to a gentle meadow breeze, a merciless earthquake to simple stepping stones, or a ravenous wildfire to a tame fireplace. Or rain.

Each has an element, but no reaper has the same ideality. Their job is to harvest memories burdensome memories that are related to their affinity. Fire would be the rebirthing of the soul, a new life free from the past life whereas rain would offer penance, the cleansing of sins and an offer of oblivion, to take away everything that is bad.

But there are fewer reapers in existence now, for the memories are slipping away into permanent oblivion. Memories are nice, but that's all that they are. Just memories, unneeded thoughts stored away in the mind. It is sad how dependent they are on the lives of humans, and humans don't even know they exist.

Tim is the rain.

He goes to different town, taking away the pain and placing it deep within his chest; he can feel the constant tug of the burden trying to force him into the ground.

But there's been a hold-back, a change in his routine.

He became attached to the soul belonging to Jason Todd. He's drawn to the anguish, the curiosity, the anger, the_kindness_.

The _love_.

He cannot suppress the memories he took or the ones he made himself from calling out to the older male. Even if he tries not to, he just cannot let him go. At least, not yet. And Jason will find him one way or another, and it will be like it was the first time they ever met.

The last meeting, however, did not end as the others had. No, this was far worse.

_"You'll stay, right?" Jason asked, his eyes like an open book, which hurt because he was always in check with them. Crystal blue eyes, filled to the brim with lies, stared straight into Jason's endless pools of sea blue._

_"Yes, I'll stay," Tim replied. Jason caressed the soft skin of Tim's neck tenderly._

_"You promise?" His voice was full of doubt, yet there was that unmistakable hope that was hidden beneath everything. Tim swallowed harshly, his throat suddenly feeling thicker._

_"I promise."_

That was a lie neither of them want to face.

Tim sat on the ground, his knees pulled tightly against his chest. His elbow was resting on his upraised knees, palm facing upwards. A white, misty globe was floating right above his palm, providing the only light source in the dark town. The orb quivered slightly as a light breeze passed them by, the light illuminating Tim's face wavering. He stared at the memory fondly while he gently played with it.

It's dangerous, this art of theirs. It breaks, it pulls, it kills, it _lies_… but it's the most beautiful thing to have ever come into being…

The dark-haired male felt a prickling in his eyes as tears glazed over the blue orbs. He didn't even attempt to prevent them from pooling over and sliding down his porcelain cheeks. The boy sobbed into his knees, clutching the memory tightly to his chest. Even though he took memories, practically gaining from everyone else, he was losing parts of himself; tearing himself apart. And the mind could only take the interference with memories for so long before the mind is impaired altogether, and Tim knew Jason was almost there.

And that is the art of dancing in the rain.

* * *

"Why did you lie to me?" The tone was quiet, strained, _hurt_; the worst part was that he wouldn't even glance at Tim. The younger male wrenched his hands under the table.

"Because…" Tim trailed off, contemplating his words carefully. His silence resulted with a tired sigh from the older male.

"'Because' isn't an answer, Tim," he deadpanned.

_I know_.

"I do it because it's in my nature. It's my job, Jason," he answered honestly. Jason scowled, folded his arms, and finally looked at Tim.

"No, Tim. It's not your job. Your _job_ is to take away all of the _bad_ memories. You did that and _more_," Jason hissed out. The other male's expression was unaffected by the statement.

"You're wrong," he denied. "I only took the bad memories away." Tim received one of the coldest glares Jason could muster, and he felt a chill trickle down his spine.

"You are not a part of those memories, do you hear me?" Jason argued. "Do you _hear_ me?" He saw Tim open his mouth to protest, but he beat him to it. "And don't you _dare_ say otherwise. That you're _fucking bad_ or some dumb shit like that. I know for a fact that _you're not_." Tim exhaled slowly, his thin lips tugging downwards into a frown.

"You don't understand Jason."

"Oh my fucking _God_," Jason breathed out as he slid down his chair, his hands covering his eyes. "I can't take this anymore. I really can't." His voice was gruff again, hinting at the possibility of tears clouding his eyes. The younger boy's eyes saddened at the thought.

"Jason," he began.

"Fucking _dammit!_" the older boy cried out. "I _love_ you, Tim. I _fucking love_ you. Is that not enough? Why the hell is it _not_enough? Tell me that!" His eyes were like a violent tidal wave crashing against a boulder as he awaited Tim's response. Tim's frown deepened at the sight.

"Jason, you know I love you-"

"Do I?" he interrupted, his jaw clenched. Tim sighed at the intervention.

"You should. But that's not _the point_. You don't understand, I _have _to take these memories away."

"Why?" The voice sounded so broken, so hopeless, like there was nothing left. "Why are you torturing me like this? I- What did I do? Why can't you just let me keep the memories I have of you? Just _why_?" Maybe it was just the light, but Tim swore he thought he saw a tear fall from Jason's eye. But just like always, it would be denied.

He was at the breaking point. It was almost game over. His mind wouldn't be able to take much more at all.

"Because you're not supposed to know I exist, Jason. I am supposed to reap the burdensome, destructive memories and then leave, making sure it was as if I was never in the area to begin with," Tim confessed. "That's why you're not allowed to remember, but the fact that once you're exposed around me, your memories start to drift back into your mind. I can't control that." The older male folded his hands, the knuckles quickly turning white, an unspoken question hanging in the air.

_'So then why do I keep ending up finding you again and again?'_

_Because, _Tim answers in his mind. _My memories of you are so strong that they have a mind of their own. And no one can reap my memories._

Tim placed his hand over Jason's gently, appreciating the fact that the other male did not recoil. He ran his other hand through Jason's short, black hair, stopping to only play with the white streak of his bangs. Jason slowly let his eyes slide shut, allowing Tim to plant ghost kisses across the contours of his face. The younger boy straddled his hips as he placed the final kiss on Jason's soft lips.

The reaping had begun. And hopefully, it would be the last one for Jason.

* * *

Tim walked down the middle of the barren street as thunder crackled in the sky and water poured down upon him. His steps caused the water to splash in all directions, the liquid soaking through his shoes and into his socks. His hands were shoved in his pants pockets as he neared a familiar figure that was also standing in the middle of the street.

Unfortunately, the odds had been against Tim, and Jason had found him once again, repeating the cycle. Only this meeting _had_ to be their last, because Jason could only take one more reaping before his mind collapsed into insanity.

Tim stopped two feet from the older boy, watching him closely, waiting for him to speak. Jason stared at a lone, wooden bench that sat on the sidewalk while he spoke.

"How many times are we going to have to say goodbye?" he asked in such a quiet voice that Tim had to strain his ears in order to hear it over the roaring heavens. He scuffed his foot against the ground, splashing a light wave of water into the air.

"As many times as it takes for you to realize that you're not supposed to say hello."

Tim wasn't really sure if those were tears or rain (_or both_) covering Jason's visage, but he did know that it _hurt_.

It hurt because he could _feel_ the pain radiating from Jason, his memories screaming out to Tim. It hurt because this cycle never seemed to end, and it is killing them both from the inside-out. It _hurt _because this is the last time they will ever cross paths.

It's the end of the line for them both.

* * *

Jason remembers waking up in a foreign town, wondering why he was there and how he even arrived there. Investigating his surroundings, he appeared to be in a small hotel room. It was nothing fancy, but it was not unsanitary either; just simple.

The male climbed out of the bed and walked over to the window and pulled the curtain to the side. It was downright pouring outside, the sky a gloomy, dark color.

"Ugh, rain. Just great," Jason muttered under his breath.

After making sure that all of the belongings he had were together (which was strangely just a backpack full of clothes and money), Jason talked to the receptionist to figure out where he was exactly. The town he was currently staying in was 30 miles east of his hometown, which he thought was odd for he had no reason to be out this far; however, he brushed the questions out of his mind as we watched the rain fall to the ground and splatter across the pavement.

"Stupid, damn rain. Is it going to let up at all?" he mumbled to himself. He was answered with a loud clap of thunder. "Guess not. Jesus."

He was able to leave 2 hours later once the storm had passed, leaving the sun to shine through the scattered clouds. And Jason made his long journey home, but not without the feeling of longing, as if a part of him was missing. He couldn't place the feeling aside, and the farther away he walked, the emptier the void within him seemed to feel.

It was a bit unnerving.

As he walked down a dirt road cutting through the countryside, Jason noticed the wind beginning to pick up, whipping the grass from left to right. He glanced back at the sky and a giant, evil-looking cloud came into view. It was going to rain.

"Aw, shit," he said. "Guess I'm going to get a bit wet." That was an understatement.

The rain splattered against his figure in a brutal manner, the drops hitting his face feeling like stabbing needles. He kept his casual pace, however, since he knows he can't outrun the storm.

And also, he felt whole.

He felt as if the previous void had suddenly disappeared, as if he had found the part of him that had been missing. He didn't feel so _alone_.

And then it was over before it even began. The rain had ceased to fall, and the cloud had begun to dissipate, allowing the sun to shine through once more.

That sense of feeling whole was no longer present, and the void had returned. Pulling his jacket closer to his neck for warmth, Jason trudged along the muddy road, hoping to get home as soon as possible.

* * *

People come and people go. People love and people hate. People know and people _forget_.

The memories of the rain slip from the minds of people, no longer remembering the penance offered from the falling water. The memories float away and scatter into nothing, becoming nothing. The memories gone forever.

The only thing left is the rain itself as it hits the ground in majestic splatters, no longer of any true importance to anyone.

Lost in oblivion and gone _forever_, never to be remembered.


	2. Beauty and the Beast

**Title: **_Beauty an the Beast Art of Dancing in the Rain_  
**Pairing:** _JayTim_  
**Rating:** _T_  
**Word Count: **594  
**Warnings:** _Slash_  
**Inspiration:** _"The Lost Loves" by Young Heretics_  
**A/N: **_This is for the wonderful Meg~ Who is sick. D: Nuuu, she can't be sick . Most people just give others "Get Well Soon" cards, but I write them fics. XD I know you liked this verse, so I decided to write a small scene out of it for you. I hope you enjoy it ^_^ Now go get better o_

_So, I'm working on a prompt for my friend CA Alcantar, and I actually have quite a bit written, _**but**_ a lot of them are scattered scenes I had sudden inspiration to write, so while I was taking a break of placing them in correct order and connecting them together, I wrote this small drabble for Meg, since she's sick and I had this idea I had been dying to write for 2 months now. With that said, I'm going back to connecting all of my jumbled scenes. XD Thank you~_

* * *

It wasn't raining today; a shame, on Tim's part. He could feel his dry skin crawl in yearning, in need of the sky's tears to make contact. But it didn't, and for now, Tim was fine with that.

He walked through the warm garden, eyeing all of the vibrant colors that covered the ground, acknowledging all of the different flowers. From azaleas to daisies, from monkshood to hyacinths…

From violets to _roses_.

Deep, vibrant, _red_ roses, accompanied by sharp, threatening thorns that dared you to touch them. They captured Tim's icy blue eyes, reeling him in for a closer look. He treaded closer to the bush, carefully eyeing the vines of thorn that were protectively wrapped around the flowers.

_Beauty and the Beast at its fullest._

The young man cautiously touched the vines, not retreating respectively when he felt a prick at his finger, and soon the green vine was painted the red of life. Without hesitation, Tim reached into the bush and grabbed a beautiful, healthy rose, and he ripped it from its stem. He brought what was left of the flower closer to him before he curled his fingers into a tight fist, squeezing the life out of the rose. When he opened his hand once more, all that remained were crumpled, rouge petals that slowly fluttered to the ground in its demise.

As blue eyes left the petals that now littered the ground and turned back to the bush, they suddenly lit up like a flamboyant candle. To his delight, Tim found an already dying rose, the petals turning black from its old age, beginning its withering journey into nothing. With precise cautious, Tim plucked the rose from the bush delicately, admiring drooping plant and dried leaves.

Jason watched from the tree he was leaning on, doing his best to try and _understand_. But he couldn't because it was _Tim_.

"Why the wilting rose?" he asked suddenly as he watched the doting and curious expression on Tim's face. The younger male let a smile cross his features.

"They say that a person's true colors show through when they die, right before they take their last breath," Tim answered softly, his eyes never leaving the rose that he twirled around in his pale fingers. "Flowers are no different from that aspect. You can't deny the fact that you don't find that _interesting._"

Tim's response made Jason squirm, uncomfortable with the underlying context of his words. He unfolded his arms only to shove his gloved hands into the pockets of his jacket. And he couldn't help but be hypnotized by the red that drizzled down Tim's arm, the caliginous red a painful contrast to stark white skin; it was _sickening_.

"I just find wilting roses more beautiful than those that are fully healthy," Tim continued as he carelessly let the thorns bite more of his flawless skin, allowing more red to paint his skin. Jason swallowed harshly, his eyes adverting to the rose bush as the undertone of Tim's words left his stomach unsettled.

Flowers are so fragile, holding all of the beauty in the world as well as all of the vulnerability. No thorn or poison can keep them alive forever, keep them from death. But that's okay, because death is beautiful. And Tim loved to watch them die before his eyes.

Tim was death, _the spectator_. And Jason was his rose, his vibrant, _healthy_ _rose_; the rose that he has broken and is continuing to suck the life out of him.

And to Tim, death _is_ beautiful.

Because _he can't die._


End file.
